


The Greatest Gift

by nerdlife4eva



Series: Hobby Hearts [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, By it is more than that, Canon Universe, Depressed Victor Nikiforov, Fandom Trumps Hate, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gift Fic, Hand sewn stuffed animals, Happy Ending, Katsuki Yuuri Is a Victor Nikiforov Fan, Light Angst, M/M, Makkachin messes up, Sochi Banquet gone RIGHT, Yuuri Katsuki sews, but it all works out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-23 13:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlife4eva/pseuds/nerdlife4eva
Summary: When life and his career feel sunken in the depths of Victor's lack of motivation, it only takes one misstep by his best friend to reveal a source of inspiration Victor had overlooked for years.AKA: The AU where Yuuri is still Victor's biggest fan, but his way of showing it is just a little more fluffy than canon :)





	1. A Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GenuineFirefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenuineFirefly/gifts).



> This is the first of my auction pieces to post for my winners from the [YOI Charity Auction](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yoicharityauction) which supported the same concept as the [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com) events. The event was run by the very awesome [katsukifatale](https://katsudons.co.vu) and benefited a number of wonderful charities! The [Daiya Charity Auction](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/daiyacharityauction) is currently open for creator sign ups if you want to consider being a part of one of these events! 
> 
> This idea was a gift from the always supportive [genuine-firefly](https://genuine-firefly.tumblr.com) who was one of my two winners! I have another fic which will begin posting when this one is finished, for another amazing human, [stars-gleam](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/stars-gleam). I want to thank both of my winners for being patient with me as I battled injuries, loss, and other deadlines. I'm sorry it has taken so long to post your fics, but I really, really hope you will love them. 
> 
> If you want to chat about YOI, please come find me on Tumblr or Twitter! I plan to continue to work in this fandom for a long time, determined to keep my little corner alive for as long as possible!  
> [NeRdLife4Eva Twitter](https://twitter.com/NeRdLife4Eva)  
> [n3rdlif343va Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/n3rdlif343va)

Ten steps into his apartment, Victor smacked his knee on the back of his couch and realized he hadn’t bothered to turn on the light. Quiet, dark, and cold, the vast room around him existed as soulless and lifeless as he felt. His body ached with the phantoms of another day of grueling practice, and for a moment he wondered if the light was truly necessary. If he hadn’t been so listless in his movements he probably wouldn’t have run into the couch and would have made it to his room without ever noticing the dimness at all.

But what would Makkachin’s dogsitter think if she arrived at Victor’s front door to discover him sulking in the darkness? _Oh poor rich boy_ , he scolded himself, _poor talented man with the world at his feet,_ _fame is such a burden to bear_. His inner voice was cruel as he sighed in defeated deflation, turning slowly on his heel to slap an unenthusiastic palm to his light switch panel.

Light poured over his economically decorated apartment. The realtor had claimed it was modern in its design, perfect for someone who wanted the world to recognize his elegance even at home. With a grunt, Victor purposely tossed his jacket over his kitchen counter and threw his skating bag onto the floor next to his table. His act of defiance lasted only a minute before he recollected his things and relocated them to their proper homes. Tidiness was ingrained into him after a childhood comprised of strict regimen and even when he refuted its pull, the desire for organization continued to beat against the sorest portions of his brain.

Traipsing into his bedroom, Victor took his time removing his sweaty clothes and tossing them into his hamper. Long gone were the days when he was willing to shower at the rink, as was the luxury of having his practice clothes laundered by the team of people designated to do just that. Between his ever-growing desires to spend uninterrupted hours numbing himself underneath hot water and the number of instances his soiled clothing had ended up sold online by some precocious thief, Victor had stepped away from the conveniences offered at his training facility. It was one more thing on a long list that set him apart from the other skaters, one more way in which he was different.

Avoiding his own reflection in the mirror, Victor leaned into the shower to twist only the hot water nozzle. Soon the water would be hot enough to sting, leaving his skin raw and red in a way his facialist would absolutely hate. He wanted to melt under the onslaught of the driving water, to curl in the safety of the bottom of the glass walls and let it wash away all of the persistent thoughts in his mind.

_Not that any of the thoughts were particularly loud_ , Victor scoffed, pulling the door open again and stepping into the shower. The world inside of Victor’s mind was painted in muted gray, the shadows of his once endless inspiration and drive moving like spooks behind locked doorways. There were no keys amid the drabness and Victor had given up his search for them almost a year ago.

Even without inspiration, he was still standing at the top of every podium. His smile made his cheeks hurt, not from its width or its desire to be seen by the world, but by the pain of effort needed to bring it into existence. Every victory was expected and hollow more than celebrated.

On autopilot, Victor scrubbed the shampoo into his scalp, letting the suds disappear over his back as he added body wash to his loofa to scrub roughly over his skin. The vicious heat registered only as the barest sensation, not breaking through the fog that hung thickly inside of his head. Maybe he should be feeling pain, maybe the harsh redness blotching over his skin should tell him to dial back the heat, but his lack of motivation to change anything prevented him from doing so.

Despite his initial desires to stay hidden until the water ran cold, Victor found himself aimlessly shutting off the water stream and grabbing a towel from his warmer. Lazily, he mopped at his wet skin, toweling at his dripping hair with little thought as to how thorough of a job he was doing. Replacing the towel, he wandered back into his room.

At the bottom of his drawer was his favorite pair of sweatpants, full of holes and not appropriate for anyone to see hanging from his hips. Momentarily his hand hovered over them, the appeal of the worn fabric plucking at this desire to be presentable whenever Makkachin arrived home.

Hearing Yakov’s voice in his head, Victor shifted his grip to a pair of pants gifted to him by one of his sponsors. A shirt of the same brand followed, a bitterness settling onto Victor’s shoulders that was heavier than the cotton hugging his torso. Foregoing socks, he plodded toward his closet, hands hanging idly at his sides as he angled his gaze upward.

The box was Victor’s favorite shade of blue. It was his secret, both the color and the box itself, and Victor found himself reaching for it before he was fully aware of his decision to do so. Hugging it close to his chest, Victor sank onto the middle of his floor, letting the box thud to its resting place at his knees.

Carefully, Victor tugged the lid away, not sure why he had decided a trip down memory lane was in order. These were the memories that were precious to him, nothing like the shiny trophies and stacks of medals that were on display at the rink. Scraps of paper, his oldest notebook, and his first pair of skate guards he had ever purchased himself. Mementos that held no monetary value, but were worth the world to Victor’s aching heart.

Thumbing the spine of his tattered notebook, Victor flipped it open. His adolescent scribble made the hint of a smile twitch at the side of his mouth. Eagerness had caused his ink to press too firmly, the ambitious moves of his very first personally created routine dancing over the page with a youthful excitement that Victor could only vaguely remember.

_Thwap._ Victor snapped the book closed, wondering how he had lost so much of himself. Closing his eyes, Victor tried to recall those old feelings, the fire that used to burn so brightly inside of him no matter how many hours of laps Yakov put him through. Back then, he defied Yakov because Victor had something to prove. Now, his defiance was merely a habit, a part of him that had also become routine.

Setting the book aside, Victor tipped the edge of the box towards his chest, his smile finally appearing when the faces of his army of Makkachins stared back at him. Pushing the bottom edge of the box forward, he let them spill over his lap, their plush bodies covering his legs were they were folded beneath him.

Reverently, Victor picked up each plush, setting them down in their proper order. More than the other items in his box, these happy Makkachins with their perfect replicas of Victor’s costumes reminded him why he started caring about his fans in the first place.

Picking up the first Makkachin, Victor couldn’t help rolling his eyes are the sheer amount of sequence on his costume. Victor had fought Yakov over this costume, determined to sparkle more than any male skater ever had. Sparkle he certainly had, to the point of aiding the flash of the press cameras to create sunbursts of light which were strong enough to practically blind the spectators around them.

He had been fifteen the year of his infamous “disco ball” costume as Georgi had so aptly named it. Halfway through the season, he had found himself performing in Japan for the first time, falling in love with everything the country had to offer and the energy the audience had filled the arena with.

Back in those days, Victor had felt attached to every flower and stuffed animal that had found its way to the ice. Unlike other skaters, Victor had kept each of them, only throwing away the flowers when they began to rot and giving away the stuffed animals when he learned of a children’s hospital that would happily accept them for their patients.

However, as he had sorted through his lot of happy smiling plushies, Victor hadn’t been able to let this one go.

Stuffed Makkachins had become a dime a dozen in his collections from the moment Victor had posed for his first picture while walking on the streets of St. Petersburg with his beloved companion. This Makkachin had been special though, his brown fur covered with a perfectly crafted tiny version of Victor’s very own costume.

Hours were lost in his search to find the dealer who had created his favorite gift. With his only clue being the cross-stitched tag with “YK” caringly sewn into it, Victor had come up empty at every turn. Resigned to love his mystery Makkachin anyway, Victor began to carry him everywhere the real Makkachin couldn’t go.

From that point on, Victor became obsessed with checking his ice prizes carefully, refusing to allow anyone else to do it for him. No more than one YK Makkachin had found its way into his hands within each season, amounting to the impressive eleven Makkachins currently staring up at him from their place on the floor. This season’s Makkachin hadn’t shown up yet, leaving Victor to wonder which costume this year’s Makkachin would be wearing whenever it appeared.

In the darkest, most cynical part of his mind, Victor wondered if the gifter of these cherished pieces of support had given up on him. If someone was paying enough attention to each detail of his costume, maybe they could also see how he had personally changed. Not that he truly believed anyone cared that much about him as a person, but in a weird way, Victor was convinced maybe this person did. Placing a kiss on the tip of each Makkachin’s nose, Victor’s head shot up when he heard the sound of keys in his front door.

Untangling himself from the floor, Victor crossed his bedroom quickly, pulling the door closed behind him and not noticing that it didn’t click in his haste to greet his dogsitter.

“Oh! You’re home!” Ivanka smiled, bending down to unclip Makkachin’s leash and let her loose into the apartment. Her flame red hair matched that of her sister’s, the tips of it slightly frozen where they stuck out from underneath her cap. “We walked for a long time today, chased a lot of seagulls. She should be nice and tired for you tonight.”

Patting Makkachin on the head, Victor nodded at Ivanka’s words. Once upon a time, he would have greeted Makkachin on his knees, accepting sloppy kisses and laughing into Makkachin’s enthusiastic affection. Guilt kept him on his feet, knowing that Makkachin probably loved Ivanka more than Victor anyway. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” Feeling unmotivated to keep conversation going, Victor waved toward the door. “I don’t want to keep you, the weather is supposed to turn unfortunate.”

Laughing, Ivanka squatted to give Makkachin a goodbye hug. “Russian winters were meant to be nasty, but thanks for the concern. I’ll see you tomorrow, girl!” Wiping a hand over her cheek to remedy the slobber streak Makkachin had left behind, Ivanka stood to wave her goodbye, disappearing into the hallway without another word.

“Had a good walk?” Victor asked his best friend, his smile becoming more genuine when Makkachin yapped back at him. “Hungry?” he asked, moving toward the kitchen to fill her bowl while Makkachin bounded away from him. Knowing she would be back as soon as the kibble clinked into her dish, Victor let her go, mind fading again as he went through the motions of prepping her dinner.

Nails scrapping against the tile had Victor turning, his brain slowly processing the familiar fluff hanging from Makkachin’s mouth. Leaping forward, he made a grab for the stuffed Makkachin, barely getting his fingers wrapped around its leg before Makkachin yanked it.

“No! Makkachin! Drop it!” Gritting his teeth, Victor pulled on the stuffed animal, growling under his breathe when Makkachin tossed her head back and forth. “This is NOT a toy! Drop it!”

A sickening _rip_ tore through the kitchen, the brown fluff of stuffed Makkachin’s exterior splitting to reveal the bright white of its stuffing. Shocked, Victor lashed out, grabbing Makkachin’s collar before he could stop himself. “Look what you did!” he yelled, his hands shaking as he released her. Gathering the tore pieces, Victor felt his fingers tremble, the first of his tears splashing onto his hands before he even realized he was crying.

Stumbling from the kitchen, Victor left a cowering Makkachin behind. The door to his bedroom rattled when he slammed it, sinking onto the floor as he clutched his very first YK gift.

Sobs heaved out of Victor’s chest, raw emotions vibrating through him in a way he thought wasn’t possible anymore. Ugly cries poured from his mouth, his tears streaking hot and unbridled down his cheeks as he wept.

Clutching the shredded remains of his memory, Victor’s brows knitted in confusion when something rough scratched his cheek. Pulling the half of his precious stuffie away from his face, Victor hiccupped as his thumb brushed over the rolled piece of paper sticking out from its hiding place. Confusion overwhelmed his current state of distress as he pulled the paper free, gingerly unrolling it.

Unfamiliar characters were written in childish scrawl across the tiny white note. Staring at it, Victor tried to search through his mental catalogue of mildly familiar languages to see if any of them were a match. Disappointed when he still couldn’t place the characters, Victor’s eyes landed on the other plushies. Scattered from their lineup by what was probably Makkachin’s excitement in her discovery, Victor took a moment to recollect them and place them back in their proper places.

A zing of anticipation shot through Victor’s chest, a feeling so sharp it left him feeling mildly breathless. Using his sleeve to wipe roughly at his face, Victor reached for the next Makkachin and began to prod at its costume.

The peak of the edge of a teeny white roll made Victor’s heart jump in his chest. Another line of slightly more steady characters left Victor disappointed, his curiosity vibrating through him as he pondered what the little notes said.

On the discovery of the third note, Victor heard himself gasp. Staring at the words “You inspire me” written in shaky handwriting left Victor gapping at the tiny blue square in his hand. English wasn’t his first language, but he distinctly remembered the interview he had given at seventeen about his determination to master it.

Swallowing hard, Victor continued his quest. With each discovered note, he felt himself growing more frantic, eager to unearth the treasures hidden within his favorite gifts.

“Your skating is magic.”

“I’m going to skate with you someday.”

“Your costumes are almost as beautiful as your smile.”

“Your skating brings me joy.”

“I hope you get to eat your favorite food all the time.”

That one made Victor huff out a laugh, a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time. He held the slip of paper between his fingers, listening as his stomach growled.

In his fridge were premade meals, high in protein and designed to give him a specific amount of calories. None of the foods in those available plastic containers would qualify as Victor’s favorite and he glanced back at the note before pulling his phone off of his charger. Dialing a number he hadn’t dialed in years, but still knew by heart, Victor grinned as he placed an order for all his favorite dishes.

Setting the note aside, Victor picked up the next Makkachin, rubbing over the tiny buttons of his coat before folding it down to retrieve another note.

“Makkachin is so lucky to be by your side.”

Frozen, Victor felt his heart drop, his mind immediately recalling the downward turn of Makkachin’s head when he had stomped into his room. Beyond his bedroom door, he had left his best friend scared and hurting because of Victor’s unreasonable anger.

Never, even in the darkest parts of his current battles, had he ever taken out his darkness on Makkachin. Sickness rolled through his stomach as he stood from the floor, cautiously opening his bedroom door and nearly crying again when he found Makkachin lying just outside of it.

“I’m so sorry, girl.” Dropping to his knees, Victor patted his lap and let his tears slip free when Makkachin slid her chin onto it. “It was just a stuffed animal. I shouldn’t have yelled.” Hearing the words of the last message ring in his ears, Victor bent down to press kisses to Makkachin’s head. “I’m so lucky to have you. I don’t deserve you.”

Curling forward he wrapped his arms around as much of Makkachin as he could reach, continuing to whisper apologies as he cried into her fur. The wetness of Makkachin’s tongue cleaning his tears from his cheeks made Victor laugh, turning his face so she could give the other side the same treatment. “Do you forgive me?” Makkachin tilted her head as if she was considering the possibility, making Victor pout. “What if I share my beef with you?”

Laughter burst from Victor, bright and real, when Makkachin knocked him backwards. Her weight was heavy on his chest, but her goofy dog smile reassured him that she still loved him. Flinging his arms around her neck, Victor tilted his chin up. “I owe you a thank you too,” he said, combing his fingers through the curls at the top of his head. “Without you, I would have never discovered a secret. Want to come see?” He laughed again when she barked, scrambling over top of his head to rush into the bedroom.

Happy to have a partner in his treasure hunt, Victor crawled on his belly toward his pile of Makkachins and dragged the next one into the reach of both of his hands. “I hope you never retire,” he read out loud, shooting a look at Makkachin when she whined. “I guess you won’t agree with all of them,” he teased, ruffling her fur. “Wanna hear more?” he asked, accepting another lick to the side of his face as confirmation that she did.

They laid on the floor together as Victor read the messages, each one prompting a spark of something Victor hadn’t felt in a long time. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the feeling and he continued to muse over the possibilities with Makkachin while they shared all of the food Victor had ordered. Sprawled out on the couch, talking freely with his best friend in the world, Victor could feel the changes beginning to swirl inside his heart.

By the time Victor had finally settled into bed, his stomach full, Makkachin by his side, he felt the power of determination surging in his veins. All of the notes taped inside of his newest notebook stared back at him, his mind spinning in a million different directions but landing on a singular decision.

He had to find out what YK meant and if the answer could lead him to whoever had given him the gift of the emotion fluttering inside of him.

An emotion that felt an awful lot like hope.


	2. A Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Makkachin lovingly created by none other than Yuuri Katsuki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would it really be one of my stories if there wasn't at least a little Yuuri and Phichit friendship?? 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this so far! I hope you'll like this peek into Yuuri's side of the story :)

Light from a single overhead bulb lit the center of the table, providing just enough brightness to fight the shadows looming threateningly inside of Yuuri’s brain. Keeping the rest of the apartment dark helped Yuuri focus on the lighted part, training his vision to narrow down to the work in front of him and cancel out the stimulation of everything else.

The evil personifications of Yuuri’s biggest fears had started screaming for attention less than twenty-four hours prior, given an opportunity to reign supreme by Celestino’s pre-performance restrictions. In theory, Celestino’s practices made sense. Forcing his skaters rest meant increasing the chances of them being fresh and ready to perform ahead of their flight across the globe to the Grand Prix Final. Unfortunately in Yuuri’s case, the lack of physical exhaustion gave Yuuri’s mind too much fuel for its anxiety-ridden doubt parade of cynical thoughts.

Bending further over his work, Yuuri tried to shut down the demons banging out sinister rhythms on the straining bars of his self-confidence. He had tried and failed all of Celestino’s suggestions about meditation, and even an emergency trip to the team’s psychologist had done nothing to quiet the turmoil determined to shake him in to broken fragments.

Picking up his sewing kit had been a last resort, a return to a hobby that had once kept his mind focused during times when it wanted to do nothing but rage. The scent of cedar filled Yuuri’s nostrils, reminding him of sewing his first costumes with the help of Minako and his mother. He knew his mom had purposely sewn the little wood balls into the cloth of his kit, and the sentimentality of her kindness made his heart settle as if she was sitting beside him feeding him tea and bland cookies.

Underneath his hands, the soft black pants had come together rather quickly.

Truly, they were a product of Yuuri’s desperation to keep his mind occupied in combination with his flawless memorization of the inspiration material. Without googling or researching for reference, Yuuri had sketched his intended creation before heading to the family-owned fabric store located just outside of campus. Finding the perfect gold chains had been his biggest challenge, making Yuuri smile as the light caught on the delicate braided hoops laying spread out next to his right hand.  

Originally, the silence of his apartment felt oppressive, as if pressure was being born out of the sheer absence of noise. That omnipotent force had been broken the minute his roommate had stormed inside, circling back toward Yuuri from his normal route toward their shared bathroom.

There was a list of reasons why Yuuri’s roommate unabashedly called him a gremlin, which is exactly what Phichit was busy reminding him of as he stalked around their tiny dining room table. Stifling his laughter, Yuuri concentrated on stitching the hem of the tiny pants, letting Phichit continue his outrage uninterrupted.

“You! You have a flight in like TWELVE HOURS!” Phichit flailed, yanking a chair out to sit and then immediately leaping to his feet again. “Yuuri Katsuki, you should be sleeping! Not playing with being a master seamstress for stuffed dogs!”

Snorting, Yuuri held up the minature pair of pants, pleased to find that the hems were perfectly matched on his first try. At Phichit’s whispered, “why are they so cute?” Yuuri grinned, grabbing his latest Makkachin from its resting place and slipping the pants over her legs.

“Oh… My…. God…. They have a tail hole…” Astounded, Phichit stole Makkachin from Yuuri’s hands. “Alright, this is stupid cute. But seriously Yuuri, Celestino said it was my job to make sure you slept. And do you think I want Ciao Ciao mad at me? Last time I… did nothing and was wrongly accused,” Phichit stuck his tongue out when Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “WRONGLY ACCUSED! And he made me skate an hour of laps! Backwards!”

Rubbing his fingers under his glasses, Yuuri chuckled when Phichit flopped indignantly back into his chair. Rolling his shoulders, Yuuri picked back up the jacket he had set aside, determined to finish the tiny costume before sleeping. Content to let Phichit fill the room around them with the sound of his voice, Yuuri busied himself with sewing the front lapels onto their adjoining fabric.

“I still can’t believe you got Ciao Ciao to throw one of these things last year.” Tossing Makkachin once in the air, Phichit caught her and gave her a quick hug. “Is this one bigger than the others?”

Humming, Yuuri nodded, tongue peeking out as he concentrated on his tight stitches. For reasons he couldn’t quite identify, his heart wanted him to believe this Makkachin was more important than all the ones that came before it. There was no basis to this feeling, yet Yuuri still felt it, deep inside his gut where all his greatest instincts bloomed.

“What number is this? Five?” Flicking Makkachin’s ears back and forth, Phichit made silly faces at the stuffed animal and wiggled his own head.

“Twelve,” Yuuri commented, not looking up when Phichit choked on nothing. Apparently this revelation had been enough to shock Phichit into silence, letting the quiet once again settle around Yuuri’s shoulders.

Sure, twelve hand sewn stuffed animal costumes sounded crazy when lumped together like that, but really, one stuffed animal per year since the time Yuuri had discovered Victor wasn’t actually that nuts. At least, that’s what Yuuri told himself.

And maybe he hadn’t quite meant for the tradition to continue beyond the first stuffed animal. It had been shyly thrown onto the ice during the first time Victor had performed in Japan as a senior skater and as a token of Yuuri’s unwavering prepubescent crush. But then he had spotted his Makkachin, sparkling brightly and tucked in the crook of Victor’s elbow in seven separate paparazzi photos. His heart had soared at the thought that Victor really liked his gift, spurring him to create more Makkachins in hopes of seeing them appear in Victor’s grasp again.

Last year, Yuuri hadn’t been slotted in any of the same venues as Victor and had convinced Celestino to throw his gift. Minako had been a more willing participant on the two occasions she had filled in for Yuuri, but Celestino had only agreed if Yuuri promised to give up his love of Twinkies for one month. Those thirty days had been torture without the grossly sweet American treat Yuuri had fallen in love with, but he managed to abstain in the name of love.

Because truly, in the deepest parts of his heart where he hardly dared to really explore, Yuuri knew that his admiration for Victor went deeper than idol worship and more meaningful than any sort of celebrity crush. Victor was a real person with beautiful likes and dislikes, who Yuuri didn’t just have on a pedestal. Perhaps he had in his younger years, but competing with Victor (even when Victor didn’t notice his existence) had made Yuuri realize all the best parts of his favorite skater had nothing to do with Victor’s on ice abilities.

In the end, what had started as the simple idolization of an out-of-touch hero had become a love for a man who was not only talented, but also kind and encouraging to those around him. Aloof as the media may convey Victor to be, none of those assumptions held true once Yuuri saw him interact with his team and those supporting them. He had witnessed Victor carrying a crying flower girl from the ice, lifting her and making her giggle through the tears of her embarrassment. Yuuri had seen Victor leave from a performance to immediately arrive at the nearest youth event to offer encouraging words to the youngest members of the Russian team.

Victor wasn’t a super star in Yuuri’s eyes because he was Russia’s Living Legend. Victor was the brightest star in Yuuri’s world, because at the heart of him, Victor was probably the best man Yuuri had ever known to exist.

“Earth to Yuuri…”

Snapping out of his daze, Yuuri blinked innocently at Phichit’s raised eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Lost you for a minute.” Setting Makkachin down on the table, Phichit smirked knowingly at Yuuri’s flushing cheeks. “You fell down a Victor wormhole didn’t you?”

“I- Shut up…” Snapping his thread between his teeth, Yuuri tried to ignore the sound of Phichit’s amusement. Every detail on the jacket in his hands had to be perfect, and he was running out of time.

Spreading the shiny pink fabric on the table, Yuuri stabbed his sewing needle into his pin cushion and scrutinized his work. The white collar of the attached undershirt would probably need pressing, but would most likely unfold in Yuuri’s suitcase anyway. The tails of the jacket angled perfectly though and Yuuri was proud of the exact match of the pair of front points.

Deciding the jacket was up to his standards, Yuuri plucked Makkachin from his place in front of Phichit and tucked his head through the opening of the top. He smiled as he tugged the jacket into place, glad that he had decided to pre-stitch the gloves instead of attaching them afterwards. They sat flawlessly at the hem of the jacket, covering the furry legs of Makkachin’s stuffed lookalike.

Leaning over the table, Phichit blocked his light and Yuuri didn’t hesitate to flatten his palm against his best friend’s forehead to shove him back into his seat. Grinning at Phichit’s squawk of disapproval, Yuuri flipped Makkachin onto her back, retrieving his needle prepped with gold thread and carefully began to attach the gold chains in their needed locations.

His concentration blocked him from hearing Phichit leaving the table, all of his concentration honed upon the tiny gold hoops and their placement on Makkachin’s jacket. Yuuri had previously sewn together the needed embellishments for the shoulders, but the angles and slopes of the front chains were far harder than he anticipated.

Silently, Yuuri worked through each chord, weaving in tight motions to keep his stitches neat. His mind played a looping rendition of Victor’s performance song, flashes of Victor’s routine prancing across Yuuri’s mind as he worked.

Over the years, Victor had made splashes throughout the skating world with his choice of costumes. The very first costume Yuuri sewed had left his fingers sore and bleeding for days after he had spent hours sewing on each piece of sequins. The black costume with the rhinestones had also left Yuuri full of regret, but it had been Yuuri’s favorite costume that year and he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to recreate it.

This costume, the one Yuuri could craft from memory despite not having seen it in person yet, was different. In the same way that Victor’s routine had changed, his costume choice had shifted from shockingly exotic to understatedly elegant. Sure, the use of gold chains and the elbow length gloves hinted at the normally extravagant look which had become synonymous with Victor’s name, but the rest of the ensemble was regal, fit for prince in Yuuri’s opinion.

In contrast to the royal attire, Victor’s program spoke not of a noble ruler fighting dragons and saving loved ones. Instead, the music rang with the sorrow of longing, of feeling just out of reach of his heart’s greatest desires.

The most meddlesome parts of Yuuri’s mind had encouraged him to research and obsess over the lyrics of Victor’s music. He had watched hours of videos, eyes catching the solemn resolve behind Victor’s eyes instead of being distracted by the flawlessness of his moves. Smiles that didn’t quite reach past Victor’s cheeks and steady answers to the press that lacked Victor’s usual passion. All of the changes in Victor’s behavior had left Yuuri with an aching heart.

Sitting back, Yuuri rolled his shoulders again, cracking his neck and lifting Makkachin to examine his work as a whole. He was proud of the end result and for a moment, he let himself fantasize about how bright Victor might smile when he saw him. Scenes floated in his mind of Victor’s happiest smiles, images of Victor clutching this Makkachin close and perhaps giving it a kiss on its little plastic nose.

Sheepishly, Yuuri pulled the dog to his chest, planted his own kisses over its furry face. Maybe somehow Victor would feel Yuuri’s love there and would be able to tell that Yuuri wanted nothing but Victor’s happiness.

Sighing at the ridiculousness of his own make believe, Yuuri laid Makkachin over his lap and dug into the bottom of his sewing kit. The small pad of rectangular blue paper only had a few sheets left, signaling either a need to buy more or an approaching end to Yuuri’s gift creating adventure. Not sure which option his mind wanted to settle on, Yuuri carefully tore the top piece from the adhesive edge and held it securely to the table with his other hand.

For all of his other messages, Yuuri had spent hours (sometimes days) laboring over what to write. Embarrassingly, he recalled the message wishing Victor could eat his favorite food, easily remembering his instant regret once it had been launched onto the ice and the reality of his stupidity had hit him.

Tapping his pen against the table, Yuuri remembered the other messages, quietly wondering what Victor had thought of each of them. Even though Victor had been photographed holding most of the plushies Yuuri had created, he had never made a public comment about the messages. Sometimes Yuuri wondered if his messages bothered Victor. His only solace in his times of blinding panic regarding that thought was knowing that Victor had no idea that Yuuri was his gifter.

Flicking Makkacin’s cloth tag between his fingers, Yuuri paused to run his thumb over his stitched initials. At competitions he was always announced formally, making his identity safe even if Victor had noticed the similar letters. Yuuri’s anonymity made him bold, allowing him to share his deepest wishes for Victor without fear of being rejected.

_Deepest wishes_ , he hummed to himself, eyes tracing the edges of his blank note. If Yuuri had any wish for Victor this season, it would be that Victor could find a reason to be happy, a light in his life which would bring his real smile back to his face.

Clinging to this thought, Yuuri carefully penned his message to Victor, proud of the English he had grown more comfortable with during his time in Detroit. With gentle care, Yuuri rolled the note between his fingers, sliding it beneath the breast of Makkachin’s jacket and then setting his completed project aside.

Willing his mind into controlled blankness, Yuuri cleaned his workspace, determined to remain calm and fulfill his coach’s demands for sleep. Sighing when he realized how impossible that would be, he opened his waiting suitcase to place Makakchin inside and went in search of Phichit in hopes of distraction.

Whatever Sochi would bring him, whatever happened at the greatest competition of Yuuri’s career, it would all be worth it to share the ice with his hero.

A hero he hoped he could make smile, even if only for a moment.


	3. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the fairy tale you hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't lynch me! 
> 
> We have jumped in chapter count from 3 to 4, but I promise, this will still conclude this weekend! I decided to separate the last chapter because there was a natural place to split it and I couldn't live with the insane word count imbalance. 
> 
> Last chapter posts before the weekend is over! I promise!

Familiar sounds of blades scrapping against the ice stabbed like lightning rods through Victor’s head. His ability to concentrate was hampered by the constant buzz of the press lurking just beyond the rink wall, eager for another shot at their country’s _mascot_. Not that the attention had really changed over the last ten years or so, and yet for the first time Victor was desperate for it vanish.

Sneering at the toes of his skates, Victor felt angrily pleased by his own degrading thoughts. From the moment his team had touched down in Sochi, the media buzzards had been on them, screaming Victor’s name and demanding his attention. “It’s your duty to your country, Victor,” Yakov had hissed in his ear, pinching Victor lightly on the back of his arm when he had resisted the push. Dutifully, Victor had given in, sliding his sunglasses from his face to shoot a wink over his shoulder.

High-pitched ringing had lingered in his ears for hours after the screaming had subsided. _Go grovel at someone else’s feet_ , Victor had thought ungratefully, catching himself and trying to drag his mind away from the bitterness trying to claim it. He had a role to play, it was his job along with bringing home medals and prize money.

Plus, the fans who looked up to him were not the same as the media who preyed on his private life. His fans loved him, spent obscene amounts of money to see him spin around on thin metal, and he at least owed them recognition of those acts of support. They may not love the real Victor, but they did love the Victor he showed to the world and in some ways that was enough.

It had to be.

Shaking his shoulders, Victor lifted his head to pretend to listen to whatever Yakov was yelling at him. The words made it no further than his eardrums before fizzling out, lost in the fading nature of Victor’s own dying thoughts.

Sleep had been determinedly unavailable to him the night before, but that wasn’t anything new. Nerves never played a part in his preparation before an event, instead it had been a relentless restlessness that had kept him staring at the bland hotel ceiling until the sun peeked over the city’s edges. Pausing in the middle of the ice to wave a hand at Yakov’s request for him to run his routine again, Victor tilted his head to the sky and prayed for a return of his desire to put one skate in front of the other.

Across the ice, Yuuri accepted his water bottle from Celestino. At his shoulder, Celestino was talking, giving him last minute suggestions and emphasizing Yuuri’s need to stop overthinking. His coach’s voice was merely background noise, blending with the chatter echoing around the rink as Yuuri’s eyes settled on Victor.

Even in the severity of the fluorescent lights, Victor’s beauty shone brighter than any other skater. His normal exuberance, usually most notable when practicing near the skaters he had known the longest, was completely absent. Chris and Georgi were certainly the closet to being in Victor’s inner circle, but even they had been stoically giving Victor space as they rehearsed their own jumps and step sequences.

 _Sadness_ , Yuuri decided, dropping his water bottle onto the ledge and moving back onto the ice. It was sadness that was trailing Victor, like a shadow that remained no matter how the light hit him. The sharpness of his eyes had faded, his smile had been missing in action all morning, and try as they had, the other skaters hadn’t been able coax a single response from their friend.

Fading into a backwards lap, Yuuri couldn’t pull his gaze away from where Victor stood at the middle of the rink. Slowly, he wound his way closer, building his courage with each glide and wondering what he would say if he could gather enough bravery to speak.

Would Victor want to know that he was the reason Yuuri was inspired to skate? Could Victor possibly care that he was Yuuri’s inspiration to keep going, even when all he did was fall through his first year of lessons? He probably wouldn’t want to know about Yuuri’s extensive memorabilia collection or about Yuuri’s opinions of his costumes. His thoughts darted to the Makkachin hidden in the bottom of his own costume bag, wondering if maybe that was a topic Victor would be willing to discuss.

Lost in his own spinning thoughts, Yuuri realized too late that he had come to a stop two feet in front of Victor’s stillness. Like a moth drawn to the brightest light, Yuuri hadn’t been able to resist the gravitational pull of the most beautiful person on the ice.

Huffing out a frustrated breath, Victor bent to rest his hands on his knees, gathering strength before performing the last half-assed rehearsal of his routine. A shadow fell underneath his gaze, making him frown before straightening up to run a hand through his hair.

Confused, Victor eyed the skater in front of him, mildly recognizing him from the film Yakov had made him watch over the last week. Normally Victor would have over-analyzed the names along with the strengths and weaknesses of all his competitors, but he hadn’t had the energy to spare for the task. Through the dull murmurs whispering through his mind, Victor tried to pluck a name from the white noise, coming up empty and resorting to staring blankly back at the individual in front of him.

“Am I in your way?” Although his intention had been to be teasingly sarcastic, Victor winced at the harsh tone of his question. He noted the immediate panic on the skater’s face and raised his hands, brain faltering in giving him anything useful to say to correct his verbal misstep.

Skating backwards a few steps, Yuuri shook his head, looking anywhere but Victor. “Um… no… sorry… I…” he heard himself stutter, backing away further and then setting off across the ice as quickly as his skates could carry him.

Sickness flared in his stomach as Yuuri threw himself out of the wall opening, snatching his skate guards from Celestino’s hand and grumbling under his breath about being finished with practice. Heat flushed over his cheeks when he watched Celestino look back at Victor, shrugging Celestino’s hand off of his shoulder when his coach attempted to comfort him.

Refusing to look up from the ground, Yuuri grabbed his bag and stormed toward the tunnel to escape into the locker room. Life had given him exactly one chance to make a first impression on Victor, and instead he had somehow managed to make the man angry before he could even speak. Hot tears threatened to catch in Yuuri’s eyelashes, propelling him to move faster away from the source of his humiliation.

Standing in the middle of the ice, Victor watched the other skater leave, his chest hurting in ways he didn’t understand. He could acknowledge that his words hadn’t been the nicest and that his intentions hadn’t been reflected in his tone. Still, Victor couldn’t understand the level of upset the interaction had caused, leaving him confused and dejected for reasons he couldn’t place.

Turning on the blade of his own skate, Victor headed off the ice in the opposite direction, slamming down on a bench and yanking off his skates despite Yakov’s screaming protests. Jamming his custom blade covers over the metal, Victor tossed his skates into his bag and shoved his feet into his shoes.

Not bothering to acknowledge the escalating shouts of his coach, Victor weaved around the always present media circus with the intention of hiding in his hotel room for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

On his night stand, Yuuri’s phone remained face-down, vibrating for what felt like the millionth time since he had slammed it there. Without looking, he knew that the caller was Phichit, probably prompted by Celestino in an attempt to talk Yuuri out of the depths of the mental grave he had tossed himself down.

 _Foolish_ , Yuuri accosted himself, tucking his knees closer to his chest and rocking slightly. _Why would I think he would want to talk to me?_ Burying his chin in his knees, Yuuri stared dazedly at the wall across from him. Mocking words danced across his mind, taunting him for his stupidity. _Hi, Victor. I’m Yuuri. Your biggest fan. I make you stuffed animals. I swear I’m not weird._ Yet he was weird. He was weird and awkward and the mere sight of him had pissed Victor off to a degree Yuuri had never seen.

One shot. He had _one shot_ at getting Victor to notice him and instead of taking it, he had babbled like an incoherent toddler and then run away to cry like an infant.

Sliding his hands over his knees, Yuuri threaded his fingers into his hair, tugging painfully at his own scalp. Why couldn’t he be charismatic like Chris or friendly like Phichit? Why did he have to be so _Yuuri_ about everything? A stuttering, useless, freak who couldn’t even say hello like a normal person. Nope, just Yuuri the weirdo, scaring the only man he ever thought he loved and ruining every future chance for his own happiness.

Groaning, Yuuri flopped onto his side, kicking his legs until the edge of the hotel comforter loosened from its tight fold allowing him to yank it over his head. There was no way he was leaving the room and no way that sleep was going to come hang out with him, leaving Yuuri alone to simmer in his own idiocy as the hours of the night slipped into nothingness.

Tomorrow he would do his short program. Skate, fail spectacularly and then flee the ice before he had a chance to humiliate himself again. Then he just had to survive through his free skate and he could go home to Detroit with his tail between his legs, ready to regret all of his life’s decisions.

“Solid plan,” he whispered to the empty room, eyes glazing over as his vision unfocused and his mind continued to sprint a shame marathon inside the mushy walls of his pathetic brain.

* * *

 

“No!” Victor snapped, stepping into his hotel room to let the door swing closed in his coach’s face. Behind it he heard a rapid fire of Russian curses, impressed by the way Yakov could enunciate even when hissing his threats through the nonexistent crack of the hotel room door. Out of added spite, Victor flipped the deadbolt closed, waving with a sarcastic tilt of his head to his coach’s hidden form.

Letting his belongings fall to the ground, Victor stripped as his walked to the bathroom, knowing he would guiltily clean up his mess as soon as he finished drowning himself in the hotel bath. The upcharge for the room had been worth it, affording him more privacy on the top floor and a bath big enough for his entire body to fit comfortably inside. After his seemingly never-ending day of required hand shaking and cheek kissing, Victor wanted to nothing more than to soak in an overwhelming amount of too-hot water while he contemplated the absurdity of his existence.

Turning the nozzle on the tub, Victor let the steam rise in the room while he plucked a towel from the stack on the closest shelf and rested it closer to the tub. Somewhere in his suitcase was his own robe, but he was decidedly too lazy to retrieve it and settled for unfolding one of the hotel’s plain white ones and settling it on the hook at the back of the door.

A hiss slipped out between Victor’s teeth as he toed at the water gathering in the tub, his foot immediately turning red from the assaulting heat. Savoring the sting, Victor stepped in, lowering himself carefully and hoping that all of his numb parts would soon feel more alive. Head hitting the back of the tub with a _thunk_ , Victor shut his eyes and let the hotness of the water overwhelm all of his other senses.

Unconsciously, the scared face of the dark-haired skater floated into his mental landscape. His memory told him the man’s eyes had been brown, wide and beautiful in way Victor wasn’t sure was real. Jittery movements spoke of nerves and insecurity, details picked up only by the slow replay occurring in Victor’s drowsy mind.

In his playback, his voice sounded harsh and cruel in a way Victor thought was impossible. Rearranging the tone and revising his expression, Victor imagined himself as more charming and flirty than he had actually been. Would the other skater have reacted differently if Victor had succeeded in his true intentions? Not necessarily flirting, of course, but instead coming off in the teasing way he had wanted to. Maybe the man wouldn’t have stormed off, and Victor could have discovered if the man’s soul matched the beauty of his eyes.

 _Oh for fuck sakes_ , Victor scolded himself, raising a hand to slap over his own face. Had he become so desperate for deeper interaction that he was now fanaticizing about a skater he knew nothing about? There was no point to indulging such a stupid daydream anyway, he had practically bit the man’s head off and had sent him running from the rink as if Victor had actually burned him.

Victor Nikiforov, the international playboy, making men cry just because he is a fucked up nitwit.

Snickering at his own made-up headline, Victor turned off the flow of the water with his foot, letting his leg splash back into the water unnecessarily. “Victor Nikiforov!” he declared to the empty space of the bathroom. “Man among men! Who has never been in love nor has he ever shared his bed with anyone! What a fucking playboy! The scandal!” Sardonically Victor cackled, throwing an arm over his head and gasping as if he had shocked himself with this revelation.

If only the world knew the real Victor, maybe they would be far less interested if they knew he was merely a dork playing make believe while stewing in a bathtub of his own sweat broth. Gagging slightly at his own thoughts, Victor shook his head before slumping back further into the tub.

Determined to quiet his mind for a bit, Victor closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to the fantasy world where he was charming and the beautiful nervous skater cried far less tears.

* * *

 

_Knock. Knock._

Sucking in a breath, Yuuri tried to remain silent, praying that whoever was at his door would simply go away.

_Knock. Knock._

“Room service!” called an unfamiliar voice, causing Yuuri to sigh in defeat and crawl out of his blanket nest.

Padding across the floor, Yuuri opened the door and blinked at the hotel employee in confusion. “You must have the wrong room.” A waft of delicious aroma rose from the cart, making Yuuri instantly regret his words.

“I was told you would say that.” Waving a hand, the man encouraged Yuuri to step out of the way. “Your friend Pi-sch-It said that I was not to leave here with this cart. So, here it is. Goodnight.” Striding out of the room, the room service attendant didn’t give Yuuri any further chance to protest.

The click of the closing door had Yuuri’s head snapping up, eyes landing on his phone. Cautiously, he removed it from its banished location, flipping it over and swiping to remove the notifications for missed calls. A single text message was waiting for him, pronouncing “eat, you’ll feel better, love your best friend ever.” Yuuri smiled at this screen. Perhaps it had been wrong to shut Phichit out earlier, and Yuuri would certainly take the time to apologize for that decision after he ate whatever smelled so good underneath the metal dome.

Guiding the cart next to his bed, Yuuri decided that his best course of action was eating while watching whatever passed for hotel room television. Later, he would text Phichit to say thank you and if he was lucky, maybe he would catch some sleep.

That would be possible _if_ he could stop replaying the most humiliating moment of his life in a constant mental loop of embarrassing horror.

Trying to tell his brain to shut up for a bit, Yuuri snagged the remote from the bedside table and settled in to attempt his preferred form of self-inflicted dissociation.

* * *

 

Bright red and only partially dry from his bath, Victor let the hotel robe hang loosely around him as he sat in the middle of his bed. Open in his lap was his notebook, a strange collection of skating routine ideas, song lists, and poorly drawn costume prospects. None of the pages drew Victor’s interests, his eyes solely focused on the careful handwriting of the notes taped inside the front cover.

Thumb tracing the edges, Victor wondered if this fan was here. Could the person who cared so much about his happiness really be out there, possibly somewhere in this audience? Would he be able to feel their presence, somehow sense where they were sitting and catch a glimpse of them? Was it wrong to hope that another Makkachin would appear, or to feel that hope as his only source of inspiration to perform?

The need to believe that this person was still out there was as important as his lungs’ need for oxygen. All of his motivation had vanished, whisked away by the overbearing demands and constant regulations of his life. These tiny notes and the soft vessels in which they had been delivered held all of Victor’s heart and were the sole reason he had been willing to put on his skates that morning. All of his fans were important, but this fan had the power to make Victor feel loved in a way the others didn’t.

Closing the book, Victor laid it gently on his bedside table before plucking the hotel phone from its cradle and calling room service to order a meal that would make the remaining hairs on Yakov’s head curl with anger. Grinning as he remembered his fan’s wishes that he could eat his favorite foods, Victor added a dessert to his order for good measure. Graciously thanking the voice on the other line, Victor dropped the phone back into its home and laid back on his bed.

Tapping his hand lightly over the sheet, Victor smiled when his fingers made contact with his desired target. Lifting the Makkachin dressed in black onto his chest, Victor felt his heart sigh as the decorative rhinestones caught the light of his bedside lamp.

Tomorrow would be another day filled with the duties of smiling for the press and making nice with the world. Tonight, however, Victor would continue to fulfill his favorite of his fan’s wishes by filling his belly with decadent food.

Humming as he hugged his stuffed Makkachin to his chest, Victor let himself say a silent prayer that this fan would be there tomorrow and that they would love his performance, in all the ways Victor couldn’t.


	4. The Throw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A split second decision, a forever change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Throws hands into the air* YES THIS IS FIVE CHAPTERS NOW! But I am posting four and then five back to back so this story will officially be complete in the next few minutes!

Competition days came with a unique sense of dread and relief. Dread flowed easily, taking over most of Yuuri’s senses and beating back the rational parts of his mind with insecurity-carved weapons. Sickness sloshed in his stomach, reminding him of the hours of sleep he never managed to get and the breakfast he couldn’t force himself to eat. His head swam with damning thoughts, grotesque images of horrific falls and being booed out of the arena.

Gripping the top of the barrier wall, Yuuri tried to listen to Celestino’s voice while simultaneously cancelling out every other noise. When his turn was over, when his blood and sweat was left on the ice for all to see, relief would shock his system with the sweet release of exhaustion. No matter how he did, completion of this program put him halfway through the Grand Prix Finale and he clung to that fact as he heard his name boom from the overhead speakers.

Applause rattled around Yuuri, shaking his already blurred vision until he was left disoriented and disconnected as he stepped onto the ice. The dizzying feeling of not quite being able to see met him like an old friend, welcoming him into the center of the blinding lights and shaking his confidence even further. Raising his arms into his starting position, Yuuri swallowed one last time, the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears drowning out the world outside of his own body.

Elbows resting on the guardrail, Victor starred at the ice taking in the strong body of the man he longed to apologize to. Guilt was a powerful emotion, leaving Victor a tangled mess of regretful and intrigued as he watched the skater’s opening moves.

“Caught your eye, has he?”

The question was very Chris-like, and yet when Victor spared a glance to his left, it was Georgi who had spoken. Humming, Victor nodded, his attention returning to the ice as Yuuri executed his first jump.

_Bad landing_ , Victor caught himself assessing, eyes tracing the skater’s path across the ice. _So much power, and yet, something is missing._ He caught himself wincing when the second jump resulted in a stumble, throwing the skater off balance.

“Yuuri is a beautiful skater to watch. But when he gets inside his own head…” Georgi’s face pinched as Yuuri slammed onto the ice, the crowd gasping with shock and then screaming their support when Yuuri stood to continue.

Confused, Victor tilted his head toward Georgi. “Yuuri?” He thought he had been listening carefully to the announcer’s voice but apparently he hadn’t really registered the man’s name.

“Yuuri Katsuki. The skater who you can’t seem to take your eyes off of. That guy, right there.” With a smile Georgi nodded at the ice. “Good guy. Very shy. Rumor has it, he is a fan of yours.” Victor missed Georgi’s knowing smirk which hinted at the last bit being more of a confirmed fact than false gossip.

The words nearly flew over Victor’s head as Yuuri’s step sequence began, a flash of movement that made Yuuri look more like a professional dancer than an ice skater. For a moment, Victor was lost from reality, his mind and body completely captured by the stunning whirl of Yuuri’s powerful moves.

His trance snapped when Yuuri threw himself off of a spin, skating too quickly across the ice and spinning far too fast into his jump. Another painful crack against the ice, made Victor cover his mouth with his hand. Yuuri was slower to get up this time, and Victor felt his words springing to his tongue. “Get up, Yuuri! I believe in you!”

Pushing up from the ice, Yuuri froze for a moment as an unmistakable voice carried over the ice. Disbelief flooded Yuuri’s chest, his eyes going wide as Victor repeated the words of Yuuri’s very first Makkachin message. If Victor believed in him, enough to call out to him, then Yuuri couldn’t let him down. His mind didn’t have space for logic and he used the thought of Victor supporting him to drive himself back to his feet.

Yuuri ignored the pain shooting through his hip and barreled into the last remaining movements of his routine. Throwing in an extra jump, Yuuri’s heart soared when he landed it cleanly, timing it to flow into his last spin.

Ending on one knee, Yuuri’s chest heaved puffs of breath around him, blurring his view of the ice further as his mind reeled. The sound of Victor’s voice continued to bounce through his mind, leaving him speechless and overwhelmed as he stood to take his bow.

Beyond the distant knowledge that Yuuri was in last place, the kiss and cry was nothing but a blur. Celestino remained silent, a warning that Yuuri would be in for a thorough lecture later. His mind was uninterested in that fact though, his eyes trained unseeingly across the ice at the blob that he hoped was Victor.

“You’re stupid for cheering on a loser. His scores are lower than mine… as a junior.” Yuri Plisetsky kicked the wall near Victor’s leg, hands shoved in his pocket and scowl so prominent it was more like a tattoo across his face than an actual facial expression.

Rolling his eyes, Victor shrugged out of his jacket, purposefully draping it over Yuri’s head. Probably the most talented skater in his young age group, Yuri was still a hothead with little to no self-control. Somewhere in the back of his heart, Victor had an unexplainable fondness for the kid, but he ignored it for the sake of putting him in his place. “True talent is not always represented by perfection.” He leaned to remove his skate guards, nearly losing his balance when Yuri elbowed him.

“Hypocrite,” he scoffed. Stomping was Yuri’s primary mode of getting around, and Victor barely restrained his snicker when Yuri’s feet slapped over the walkway as he made his way back to the team.

Mila immediately took Yuri’s place, holding out the Makkachin that she had been snuggling on Victor’s behalf. “I told Yakov we should have put one of those American kid leashes on him.”  She smiled when Victor accepted one of his prized possessions, leaning her elbow on the wall and peering thoughtfully at him. “What’s up with you?”

Squeezing his Makkachin, Victor shook his head. Since the moment he had awoken that morning, he had a feeling that change was in the air. Sure, the lingering guilt over his interaction with Yuuri still weighed heavily on his mind, but beneath that was a current of something unmistakably exciting. Logic couldn’t define it and instead of analyzing it into ruin, Victor had embraced the unknown pulse within his heart. Whatever was coming, he only hoped he could be ready for it.

Giving his stuffed Makkachin a quick kiss on her nose, Victor reluctantly handed her back to Mila as his name was announced with a roaring reception from the crowd.

Standing a few feet away, Yuuri felt his heart drop out of his chest. Not only had Victor called out to him, but he had brought a Makkachin to the rink with him. _And kissed it._

Shoving past Celestino, Yuuri merely called, “I have to do something!” as he moved as quickly as possible toward the locker room. Other skaters threw funny looks in his direction, with the exception of Christophe who took Yuuri’s distraction as an opportunity to slap at his ass. Vowing to grumble at Chris about it later, Yuuri stumbled down the hallway, feet carrying him over the rubber padded mats as fast as his skates would allow.

* * *

 

The locker room door banged shut when Yuuri rushed from it, his newest Makkachin tucked between his team jacket and his chest. Ignoring the greetings being shouted to him by various teammates and staff, Yuuri hurried his way back to the ice, his heart rate quickening when he heard the last few notes of Victor’s song playing.

Time wasn’t on his side, leaving Yuuri without a proper plan or any forethought as to how to execute his throw. Instead, he launched himself forward, yanking Makkchin out of his jacket and flinging her onto the ice among the rest of the gifts pouring down around Victor’s feet.

If Victor’s life had been a movie, this would have been the slow-motion moment. Waving a hand in the air, Victor thanked his supporters in the customary way. Until movement caught his eye at rink level, a flash of light reflecting off of a gold chain and a pair of startled wide eyes caught his own. His heart rushed to his throat, his eyes taking in the raised arm of Yuuri Katsuki and the object which sailed onto the ice in a perfect connecting arc.

Then Yuuri was gone, disappearing almost magically behind the rink wall, making Victor question whether he had really been there at all. Pushing forward on his skates, Victor weaved around the adorably tiny skaters collecting his gifts, bee-lining for the one he wanted most.

Crouching, Victor scooped the stuffed Makkachin into his arms, tears instantly flooding his eyes as he stared down at the flawless version of his free skate costume differing only by the addition of the tag simply reading “YK.” Clutching her to his chest, Victor made to move toward the wall where Yuuri had been, jerking violently when his name was called from the opposite side. With a last glance over his shoulder, Victor sighed in defeat, changing directions and heading for the kiss and cry.

Sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, Yuuri gulped as he returned the open-mouthed stares of the Russian skating team. Georgi waved at him, smile bright and dramatically highlighted by an outrageous shade of blue lipstick. Mutely, Yuuri waved back, trying to decide exactly what he was supposed to do now.

“Idiot!” came an angry voice, belonging to a tiny blond skater.

Yuuri groaned as he recognized the other Yuri, banging his head back against the wall with enough force to hopefully knock himself unconscious. A hand under his armpit hauled him to his feet, Celestino’s face blocking his view of everyone else as his coach dragged him out of the arena.

Behind him, Yuuri swore he heard someone calling his name, but Celestino’s determined pace gave Yuuri no space to slow down. Succumbing to whatever quiet, yet terrifying, admonishments Celestino had in store for him, Yuuri let his shoulders sag as he was guided back to the locker room.

Standing speechless at the rink-side end of the tunnel, Victor held a tiny slip of paper in his hand. He had made the mistake of reading it while still in the view of the kiss and cry camera, his tears renewing their desire to fall as Yakov pushed him out of the spotlight.

“My greatest wish is for you to find happiness” read the beautiful print, handwriting that Victor now knew to belong to one Yuuri Katsuki.

YK.

His YK.

Now all that was left was to find a way to thank Yuuri for giving him the gift of feeling alive. Not just with the Makkachins, or the notes, but also in the way Yuuri’s skating had sparked something deep inside of Victor’s heart. More than hope burned there now, more than an undefined feeling of excitement. Instead, Victor felt the thrum of desire beneath his skin, a need to find out more about the man who had awoken all the dormant parts of Victor’s soul.

Clutching his Makkachin to his chest, Victor followed his coach from the rink, Yakov’s voice fading in comparison to the swirling ideas dancing in circles inside of Victor’s mind.

* * *

 

At Celestino’s suggestion, Yuuri had spent most of his free time laying low in his hotel room. He had facetimed with Phichit, relaying the story of Victor calling out to him and hesitantly recalling the details of his decision to throw his Makkachin. When he got to the part about Victor possibly seeing him, Phichit had been abnormally dodgy, leaving Yuuri with a feeling of anxious uncertainty swimming in his stomach. Not wanting to feed the nervous beast inside of him, Yuuri decided against pressing Phichit about his odd behavior.

The building nervousness wasn’t helped when Celestino declared an alternative location for his practice time. Normally, skaters all practiced together in open practice, which was much more of a publicity driven activity than time actually allowing the skaters to work out any of their struggling moves. A change in that routine left Yuuri with a new level of fuzzy feelings in his stomach and feeling unsteady as he tried to will away the last hours of his sleepless night heading into the free skate day. Sleep would certainly greet him with open arms once he was on the plane home, and Yuuri found himself longing for the uncomfortable airline seat as he dragged himself out of bed to prepare for competition.

If Victor had seen him, Yuuri was positive that Victor had been disappointed. Surely, Victor had been expecting someone more attractive, more talented, and really more _anything_ than Yuuri was. The thought that Victor was upset or let down wouldn’t shake itself from Yuuri’s head, leaving him uselessly distracted as he pulled on his warm up clothes and gathered all of his supplies for the day.

When Celestino arrived to collect him, Yuuri yelped as he was shoved back into the room and dragged into his bathroom so Celestino could apply makeup to the bags under his eyes. The gruff kindness and absolute silence of his coach made Yuuri’s hands shake, his mind spinning all of the worst case scenarios as to why he couldn’t be seen exhausted and beat down in public.  

Letting the demons rage in his mind, Yuuri plodded after Celestino, making his way toward whatever doom awaited him on his final day at the arena.

* * *

 

Nervously twiddling his fingers, Victor wished he could press fast forward on the day. He was anxious to watch Yuuri skate again, but then he could do without all of the other routines. Going last was usually a privilege Victor appreciated, until today when all he wanted to do was get on the ice.

His unsettled energy made him bounce in place, returning Yakov’s judgmental glare with a bright smile just to see the man seethe silently from his place at the wall. Moving through the hallway, Victor practiced his moves, concentrating on the new direction of his story.

Perhaps if he had been able to see Yuuri sometime during the day between competitions, he could have resolved all of his feelings without such a public declaration. Unfortunately, Yakov was a little too wise and had done everything in his power to keep Victor from achieving this goal. In turn, Victor had changed the focus of his program without as much as a word to his coach. Praying he would be able to spot Yuuri in a place along the rink, Victor imagined the beautiful face as the focal point for all his most emotional developments throughout his skate.

Never in the history of his career had Victor skated for one person. He had made a name for himself by skating to abstract concepts, by surprising spectators with outlandish costumes and themes that pushed the boundaries of his sport’s controlling entities. Victor was a man who lived to surprise his audience, and yet today, he was skating with the intention of speaking directly to an audience of one.

When Victor had crafted his program, the longing and desire his skating referenced had been mostly a metaphor. A way of Victor speaking his sorrow over his lack of motivation and regrettably empty life outside of skating, without ever having to say those words. The story opened the parts of Victor’s soul that he had never dared to show anyone, although no one had seemed to understand the deeper message, despite how many times he had performed the routine. Reviews had reflected the story of a lonely prince, lost without love and looking for his missing piece. In a way, this had been true, but Victor’s true meaning had been far deeper than anyone seemed to want to give him credit for.

Now he supposed, those romanticized versions of his routine were closer to the truth. His longing wasn’t about skating, or motivation, or emptiness. Today, he would skate to show his desire for more, his heart’s only wish to find happiness and belonging in the arms of someone who could understand him. He could only hope that Yuuri would hear, that all of his assumptions about who Yuuri must be could really be true. That in the end, it would be Yuuri who could see through the image of Victor to discover what laid beneath the pearly-finished, media-ready layers.

His head shot up when he heard Yuuri’s name vibrate through the loud speakers. Tuning out the protests flying from Yakov, Victor made his way toward the ice, eyes already narrowed in toward Yuuri. In the highlight of the soft blue light, Yuuri looked heavenly. Lines of sequins sparkled as Yuuri’s chest rose and fell with every breath.

Trembling fingers tapped at Yuuri’s shoulders where they rested waiting for his musical cue. His mind raced several steps ahead of itself, counting moves and running his routine in a lightning speed review. Celestino had told him to stop thinking so much, knowing damn well that Yuuri could never succeed in following that simple command.

This time, the stakes felt even higher.

A single note, low and haunting filled the arena and Yuuri let his arms drop, his shoulders rolling to bring his form to life as his story unfolded.

Watching from the sidelines, Victor could see the tension holding Yuuri’s shoulders hostage. Fluidity existed in Yuuri’s lower body, guiding him through the opening sequence even though his upper body looked like it was being dragged along for the ride. Biting his lip hard, Victor resisted shouting reassurances at Yuuri.

Even through Yuuri’s falls, Victor couldn’t tear his eyes away. A running list of corrections Victor would make in the routine grew at the back of his mind, but his heart was completely stolen by the fallen hero pouring his own sorrow onto the ice. The message was bleak and sad, pulling at the heartstrings of every member of the surrounding crowd.

Cheers thundered when Yuuri completed his routine, his body shaking as his adrenaline immediately crashed. Subconsciously, he searched the line of skaters waiting to perform and found himself struggling to breathe when he discovered Victor staring straight at him. Feeling a small smile tug at his lips, Yuuri snapped his gaze away, terrified that he would somehow screw things up again.

Skating to the sidelines, he stepped to Celestino’s side allowing his coach to wrap an arm around his shoulders. Together they moved toward the kiss and cry, both knowing that Yuuri’s less than perfect performance would keep him from the podium.

Although it should have felt like the end of the world, Yuuri could only listen in dazed silence as his score was announced. He would have to settle for no better than fourth, leaving the weight of shame lying heavier on his shoulders than the physical pressure of Celestino’s arm. Quietly, they rose together moving to sit with the rest of the team.

The remaining skaters passed in a blur, Yuuri’s lost hope of making it on the podium keeping him from investing too much thought into his competitor’s routines. Had it not been bad form, Yuuri may have excused himself from the rink altogether, but he refused to be rude despite his own painful disappointment.

Besides, there was a larger part of him that wouldn’t miss the opportunity to see Victor skate his routine, no matter how much Yuuri wanted to vanish from the world as a whole. Easing forward to rest his elbows on his knees, Yuuri inhaled sharply when Victor’s name was announced bringing him to center spotlight bathed in the beautiful glow of soft pink light.

His heart stopped beating entirely when Victor shifted his opening stance and leveled his pleading look directly at Yuuri’s face.

Around the age of ten, Victor could remember still getting nervous at competitions. By fifteen, he had grown out of the childish nerves and worries, gaining strength instead of butterflies from the audience’s attention.

At twenty-seven, Victor felt the first slide of ice-cold fear slip down his spine, prompted by the shocked look of blushing realization painting Yuuri’s beautiful cheeks. _This one’s for you_ , he thought, smiling nervously in Yuuri’s direction before reigning in his facial expression. He still had a story to tell and in spite of his renewed wish for a happy ending, Victor had to first convince Yuuri that his desires were true.

Taking a deep breath, Victor let the music sweep him away, praying that Yuuri would understand.

“I think he was looking at Yuuri!” “He definitely was!” “Look he keeps spotting Yuuri even as he skates!” “OH MY GOD! Yuuri get your man!”

The voices behind him were driving Yuuri mad, bolstering the already loudly screeching thoughts in his head. Victor was skating a story of longing for love and the desire to be loved, and looking at Yuuri whenever his moves brought him within sightline.

Every time Yuuri had watched this routine, he had imagined Victor skating an open letter to skating itself. Others had argued with him about the meaning of Victor’s program, trying to place romantic value on the emotional piece as if that was the most important story anyone could tell. Yuuri disagreed vehemently, right up until the moment that Victor’s music came to an end with an open palm extended toward Yuuri, inviting and waiting to be taken.

The entire building shook with the power of the applause. A chant of “Victor” broke out over the crowd, an overwhelmingly loud cadence of his name throbbing as if it had a heart of its own. Victor could barely hear any of it, all of his senses trained toward the tears running down Yuuri’s face and the frantic need to know what they meant.

Bowing quickly to the crowd, Victor threw himself forward, propelled by desire and supported by the threads of his heart braiding back together after so many years of being torn.

A hand in front of his face nearly toppled Victor backwards, his glare ready to ignite the tip of Yakov’s nose when his coach yanked him in the direction of the kiss and cry. “Not here. Don’t let whatever this nonsense is overshadow your win today.” Struggling against the hand pressed at his back, Victor looked over his shoulder to try to find Yuuri again. To his dismay, Yuuri’s coach was guiding him away, Yuuri’s desperation matching Victor’s own as the distance between them grew further.

By the time Victor’s record-breaking scores were announced and a medal hung around his neck, Yuuri was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, Victor sulked his way back to the locker room, startling when Georgi clapped him on the back.

“There’s always the banquet,” Georgi said with a wink, plopping Victor’s Makkachin into his lap. “Love always prevails,” he declared dramatically, spinning on his heel as he left the room with unneeded flourish.

Smiling, Victor held his newest Makkachin up high and kissed her nose with a loud smack. At the banquet he would surely find Yuuri and tell him all the ways in which Yuuri had saved him.

Then they would dance. And live happily ever after. Victor was sure of it.


	5. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A happy promise of a new beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to genuine-firefly for giving me this request and letting me go running away with it (while cackling gleefully)! I had a blast writing this story, and appreciate the chance to write for the fandom that always keeps my heart so safe. While I know I have [123 YOI stories](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdlife4eva) published (with three more posting over the next few weeks), I still have ideas waiting for my attention. I'm hoping that movie news will revamp the fandom, but until then, I will still be here, hanging out in the pile of fluff that I love best. 
> 
> Don't forget to find me on Tumblr or Twitter if you want to chat and also go check out all of the other yoicharityauction fics!! I hope you will come back and hang out with me in two new worlds, posting soon!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who took time to read and be a part of this story, I will be responding to all of your comments within the next few days! 
> 
> Now it is off to bed with me! Big hugs and mad love to all of you! *MUAH!*

“Pick up… pick up, pick up, pick up!” Yuuri’s feet brushed over the carpet, his dress socks providing very little barrier between his sore soles and the scratch of the carpet’s fibers. Chewing at his thumb nail, Yuuri cursed when the phone continued to ring almost hanging up when a cheerful voice finally answered.

“You! Yuuri, wow. Way to sweep your man off his feet!” Phichit sounded far more eager to talk about Victor than he had the night before, making Yuuri strangely suspicious about what exactly had been broadcast.

“Phichit… what do you…” frowning, Yuuri sat on the bed, trying to sort out his thoughts. “Did you see his skate?”

Laughing into the phone, Phichit barely contained himself as he happily declared, “Did I see Victor Nikiforov make bedroom eyes at you while skating to a world record? Why yes, Yuuri, I did.” His laughter punctured Yuuri’s ear again when Yuuri squeaked in response.

“So… he was looking at me, right? I mean… I think he was… but…” Yuuri had been doubting the reality of what he had seen and the way Victor’s attention had felt since the moment Celestino had pulled him toward the other non-podium skaters. His mind wouldn’t stop telling him all the reasons he was wrong, and the closer the banquet got, the more he was convinced that it was all in his imagination.

A sigh, long and drawn out, made Yuuri pull the phone away from his ear. Waiting until Phichit was finished with his dramatics, Yuuri fiddled with his tie and furrowed his brows when Phichit started talking.

“I know that it’s really easy for you to dismiss this, but Yuuri, something happened. Maybe he did see you throw that Makkachin and it meant a lot more to him than you know. Maybe he has been harboring some secret crush on you too. Or maybe he finally clued into your amazing ass. Doesn’t matter what it is, he noticed you. He skated for you. Now all you have to do is not be scared. Just say _yeeeessssss_.”

Confusion flooded into Yuuri’s already busy brain. “Say yes to what? No one asked me anything.”

“I’m coming to Sochi to fight you.” Phichit sighed again, making Yuuri roll his eyes. “Yuuri, doesn’t matter what he asks. For a dance, a drink, dinner, a little bump and grind-”

“No more sorority house sleepovers for you,” Yuuri scoffed, his cheeks burning with Phichit’s stupid implications. “He’s not going to… he doesn’t want… I’m just ME, Phichit!” Flopping backwards on the bed, Yuuri stared at his ceiling not giving a single care to the wrinkles folding themselves into his shirt.

“Someday Yuuri Katsuki, you are going to realize that _just you_ is a pretty awesome person. Until then…” Phichit paused, very obviously smirking on the other side of the line when a knock tapped on Yuuri’s door. “I ordered you some liquid courage.”

“Where do you keep getting this money?” Rolling off the bed, Yuuri wandered to the door, opening it to reveal a chilled bottle of wine and another smiling room service attendant.

“I wrote down Ciao Ciao’s credit card information.” Snickers rang through the phone at Yuuri’s wordless sputtering outrage. “Just kidding!” Phichit said. “Mostly. Now drink. And seriously Yuuri, when _not if_ but _when_ Victor approaches you tonight, just go with it. Flap your wings and fly, my little nerdy birdie.”

The click disconnecting the call cut off Yuuri’s chance to retort, his teeth grinding as Phichit’s words echoed in his mind. Despite the absurdity of the details (as if Victor would ever want to… _that_ … with him), the base idea kind of made sense. Eying the bottle of wine, Yuuri decided that one glass certainly wouldn’t hurt and set about opening his gift of courage while repeatedly telling himself to just say yes.

* * *

 

By nature, banquets were boring. The food was usually bland and the alcohol was limited to pre-selected choices which never particularly tickled Victor’s fancy. Tonight, however, Victor needed the extra confidence boost offered at the bottom of a few glasses of champagne.

His head was pleasantly fuzzy when Yuuri finally arrived at the banquet, looking skittish and almost unwilling in his participation. From Victor’s side, Yuri scoffed, making a comment under his breath about the lack of need for two Yuuris in their sport.

Rounding on the kid who was supposed to follow in Victor’s footsteps (according to Yakov at least), Victor crossed his arms and looked down his nose. “Someday, you’ll realize the appeal of humility. Until then, I will happily watch Yuuri trounce you into the ground next season.” Knocking back the remaining third of his most current champagne glass, Victor flicked Yuri on the nose before turning sharply on his heel and striding away.

Only seconds passed between Yuuri noticing Victor in the room and Victor appearing directly in front of him. Confused when Victor swayed slightly forward, Yuuri caught him by the elbows and flushed fiercely at Victor’s brilliant smile. It was the smile Yuuri had been missing and he felt his entire brain turn to mush as its gorgeousness was directed solely at him.

In his hotel room, Victor had practiced introducing himself for over an hour. Sponsors he could handle, annoying press questions were no problem, and even unwelcome advances were easy to ward off. The simple thought of saying hi to Yuuri had sent him into a frazzled spiral, stranding him in front of the hotel’s bathroom mirror in an anxious fit to identify the coolest opening line possible.

Under the pressure of Yuuri’s strong fingers and the sweet scent of the hotel shampoo in Yuuri’s hair, Victor’s brain came up with the neediest words it could put together. The champagne loosened his tongue, ushering his question from his mouth without any semblance of finesse. “Can we talk?” he asked, raising a hand to brush his fingertips over Yuuri’s cheek. It was even softer than Victor imagined, and the whimper that escaped him was definitely something he would remember with embarrassment tomorrow.

There was no regret now though with Yuuri’s cheek blushing under his hand and Yuuri’s eyes gleaming up at him, even more beautiful than Victor’s imagination had remembered.

“Here?” Yuuri squawked, unable to keep the surprise and slight tremor out of his voice. Victor’s hand had found its way to Yuuri’s hip while his other seemed determined to run endless pathways under Yuuri’s cheekbone. “I… you want…”

“You,” Victor blurted, sober enough to flush at his own admission. “I mean, not _you know_ … well… maybe _you know_ … but first… I…” Stopping himself, Victor closed his eyes and nearly whimpered again at the musical sound of Yuuri’s chuckle. “Do you want to get out of here?” Hesitantly he peeked one eye open, smiling broadly when Yuuri grinned back at him.

“You… want to ditch the banquet? Won’t Yakov yell at you?” Yuuri would never admit to the origination of his out of character boldness coming from the bottle of Phichit’s gifted wine. Nor would he acknowledge the half an hour he spent reciting Phichit’s just say yes advice to himself in the bathroom mirror. Nevertheless, he let it fuel him into stepping further into Victor’s space, sighing quietly when Victor’s hand slid to rest gently at the side of his neck.

“Hmmm,” Victor smirked, “when it comes to Yakov, my hearing is fairly selective. I’ll just wear ear plugs on the plane.”

Snorting, Yuuri covered his mouth with his palm, letting Victor weave his fingers into his free hand. Not looking back, Yuuri followed Victor from the banquet room. Both of them laughed harder when the matching sounds of their coach’s voices chased them into the hallway, quickening their steps and slipping into a closing elevator.

“I’m going to have to do so many laps,” Yuuri joked, resting his back on the elevator and smiling at Victor’s reflection in the mirrored wall. “Sometimes Ciao Ciao makes us skate them backwards.”

“Yakov believes in running hills. Icy ones. Before the sunrise. During Russian winters.” Victor flung himself onto the wall next to Yuuri with a dramatic sigh. “Russians!” He laughed when Yuuri giggled, feeling a flare of beautifully bright happiness ignite in his chest. “My room has a glass balcony.” Victor suggested, nervously looking away when he realized the potential implication of his invitation.

“Is it warm?” Yuuri asked nervously, remembering the hour it had taken to regain feeling in his hands after the outdoor press interviews ahead of their last event. “It is painfully cold here.”

“It’s warm, I promise.” Winking, Victor jabbed at the elevator button for his floor, praying that he could keep up his flirting. In his distraction he accidentally bumped the alarm button, jumping backwards and slamming his shoulder into the wall when the elevator screeched at him.

Throwing an arm around Victor’s waist, Yuuri felt himself relax. Being this close to Victor should be terrifying, except Victor was every bit of the dork Yuuri hoped he would be. Smiling up at Victor’s goofy blush, Yuuri decided that perhaps he would be the one buying Phichit dinner when he got home.

* * *

 

Unlike Yuuri’s room, Victor’s room was on the top floor and overlooked the skyline of the city. The glass balcony was truly surrounded by solid walls, kept warm by the surprisingly successful floor heaters. Below them the city lights twinkled, making them feel worlds away from the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. Here, tucked together under one shared blanket on the tiny balcony couch, it felt like the world couldn’t reach them.

Time had passed without either of them noticing, their small hesitations with each other lessened by the alcohol that was slowly fading in their systems. There was a natural rhythm to the way they fell together, a complimentary ebb and flow to their conversation that felt neither overwhelming nor dull.

For the first time since Yuuri had met Phichit, he felt truly comfortable with another human being. His circle was small but supportive, and Yuuri always hesitated to do anything to widen it. With Victor, Yuuri already felt like he belonged, as if Victor had always existed in Yuuri’s small world of trust even if it had only been in spirit.

“Can I show you something?” Victor slid from beneath the blanket, missing Yuuri’s warmth instantly and waiting until Yuuri gave him a small nod of confirmation. Willing himself to be brave about this, Victor disappeared into the room to retrieve his notebook and all of the Makkachins who had made the journey with him.

Eyes wide, Yuuri took in the sight of all his years of work being laid in his lap. Every Makkachin he had ever created minus one was accounted for, including the one he had just gifted Victor the day before. Unable to decide what to say, Yuuri remained silent, lifting the edge of the blanket and welcoming Victor back in.

Laying his notebook on his lap, Victor twisted to look at Yuuri. “I saved all of them.” His smile twitched when Yuuri blinked back at him, ears turning an adorable shade of red.

“So you definitely saw me yesterday. But…” Yuuri glanced down at the plush bodies in his lap, eyes purposefully avoiding looking at his own hand sewn tags. “How did you know I made them? I could have been throwing it at the request of someone else.” If he could kick himself for his ridiculous need to challenge his own identity then he certainly would have. Instead, he stared stubbornly at his own lap.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Victor swiped his thumb across the screen. “I had some help with the confirmation.” Opening Instagram, Victor clicked on the profile of his newest mutual, turning the phone to show Yuuri the profile. “I believe this is you?” Tapping the picture at the top right, Victor let it fill his screen.

Staring back at Yuuri was a picture of his own head, ducked over his table in Detroit as he guided a needle with gold thread into Makkachin’s costume. “Phichit,” he growled, snagging the phone and groaning at the hashtags #nikiforovfan #marryhimvictor #mynerdroommate #bestfriendsforever #icallbestman

“Your best friend loves you quite a bit,” Victor remarked. “At first I was worried that maybe… you two were more. But he assures me that you are open for loving, whatever that is supposed to mean.” Truthfully, Victor wasn’t that naïve but he loved pretending to be so, especially when Yuuri curled forward, buried his head into the pile of Makkachins, and muttered about wanting to die. All of Victor’s fantasies about what Yuuri was like or even what his fan would be like, couldn’t hold a handle to the real and very adorable man sitting next to him.

In an attempt to ease some of Yuuri’s grumblings, Victor reached out to rub an ear of each Makkachin, pulling his newest one into his lap. “All of the other stuffed animals I donated, but these I could never let myself part with. I didn’t even know about your notes until recently.” Flipping open the cover of his book, Victor ran his fingers over the tapped notes.

“I discovered your notes when Makkachin accidentally took one of them as a chew toy. That one remained in St. Petersburg, my costume designer is performing lifesaving surgery on her as we speak.” Mouthing the words of each note, Victor paused when Yuuri’s hand covered his own, not realizing that Yuuri had decided against death by stuffed suffocation.

“I don’t know why you made these for me. I’m nothing particularly special… but Yuuri…” Raising his head, Victor licked his lips as he tried to form the right words. “Yuuri, these are the most precious gifts I’ve ever received. And these notes… they’re the reason I’m here at the Grand Prix Finale. I felt like… whoever created these… they could see me. The real me.”

Emotions tangled into a knot at the back of Yuuri’s throat and he squeezed Victor’s hand beneath his own. Although he was still planning on strangling Phichit as soon as he landed on US soil, he couldn’t deny that his best friend’s meddling had brought him to this moment.

The bravery it took for Victor to share his feelings inspired Yuuri to be brave as well. Flipping Victor’s hand over, Yuuri curled their fingers together. “I started making these when you were just someone I looked up to. You were the reason I wanted to skate professionally, your beauty, your talent, it was constantly spurring me to be more.” Fondly, Yuuri plucked the Makkachin he had just created from Victor’s lap. “Then you became… more.”

Nervously, Yuuri bit his bottom lip. Phichit’s voice echoed in the back of his mind, telling him this may be his only chance to say any of this. Nodding to himself, Yuuri continued. “You’re such a good person. You care and not for show or because anyone is watching. You do it, because that’s who you are. This season something changed. I just kept thinking… you were sad.” Shrugging, Yuuri let himself fall back into the couch.

The tears Victor had kept so carefully held back trickled down his cheeks. “You did see me,” his voice was tight as he turned to Yuuri, praying that Yuuri wouldn’t run from his broken mess. “Thank you. Not just… for this… but… for everything. For wanting to see more, for believing there is more. I’m sorry that I didn’t see you… that I didn’t know you. But I want to… if you’ll let me.”

Instinctually Yuuri cupped his hand gently around Victor’s jaw, using his thumb to swipe at Victor’s tears when Victor leaned into his touch. “I know there’s more. And… I want you to know me, if you want to. Thank you for not thinking I was some weirdo.” He grinned when Victor’s chuckle was accompanied by sniffles. “I alternated between saving every picture of you holding these guys to wanting to die of embarrassed shame because I couldn’t stop making them. I wanted you to be happy.”

“You made me happy, by reminding of simple reasons to be so. Your message… about eating my favorite foods. Because of you, I have eaten so many calories and I have loved every one of them. I had forgotten how much I love food and you gave that back to me.” Lifting Yuuri’s hand, Victor kissed his knuckles, wishing it was Yuuri’s lips instead.

“Oh… wow… I almost died of embarrassment over that message. I just… whenever I would win medals as a kid, my mom would make me katsudon as a reward. It’s my favorite and hers is the best. It was very important to me back then, so… you know.” Yuuri felt his heart speed up as Victor continued to press light kisses to each of his knuckles. “I’m glad that you liked that one.”

“I liked them all. And I bet I would like your mom’s katsudon. I think food is my new passion.” Finally giving up on his quest to kiss every part of Yuuri’s hand, Victor settled their joined grasp into his lap.

“You could try it. If you wanted to. In the offseason. You could visit or something.” Stumbling over his words, Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what he was offering. He hadn’t been home in five years and suddenly he was asking Victor to essentially meet his parents. Puffing out his cheeks to silence his word spillage, Yuuri looked up through his lashes when Victor said his name.

“If you would have me, I would love to visit. I don’t want this to be it. There’s something about you, Yuuri, something that makes me feel… like I’m waking up from a bad dream. Maybe you’re my prince, coming to kiss me and break the spell I’ve been under.” Hearing his own words in replay, Victor’s eyes widened, his jaw opening and closing without another word coming to his rescue.

Taking the opening as a gift, Yuuri scooted closer. “I could you know… kiss you.” He kept his chin angled upward, his false bravado wavering when Victor continued to gape silently at him.

Just when Yuuri was ready to shift backwards, Victor leaned down, capturing Yuuri’s lips in a gentle kiss that left them both reaching for more.

The world quieted. Neither of them had to fight off mental demons as they fell into each other, relieving each other of the need to obsess or analyze what was happening. They moved in sync, adjusting and rearranging, finding a common chord and dancing along its melody with natural ease.

They finally broke apart, not leaving each other’s space and instead rested their foreheads together. Victor happily ran his fingers through the hair at the back of Yuuri’s neck, loving the rush of emotions tumbling over each other inside of his chest. “I think you’ll be my greatest gift,” Victor commented, lightly kissing Yuuri and pulling back when Yuuri’s laughter tickled his lips.

“Are you always so cheesy?” Yuuri teased, settling his head on Victor’s shoulder and melting when Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s body.

“I’m never cheesy. I’m just honest.” Nuzzling into Yuuri’s hair, Victor wondered how soon he could convince Yuuri to kiss him again.

Silence fell between them, a host of unknowns still spread at their feet and only a handful of hours left to cling to the newfound comfort of each other. Neither of them knew what the future would bring them, where the story that had started with a stuffed animal would eventually lead. Instead of a kiss to signal their happily ever after, their kiss had instead opened the possibility of new adventures.

Years of missed connections laid in their laps, represented by Yuuri’s loving craftsmanship and Victor cherishing adoration of each result. Any one of these Makkachins could have led them to one another, yet they had only found each other now when the real Makkachin had accidentally intervened.

Thankful for whatever forces had been at play, Victor let himself relax into the feeling of the couch at his back and Yuuri pressed into his side.

In the end it wasn’t Yuuri’s Makkachins that were Victor’s greatest treasures, it was the creator himself who Victor would grow to cherish with every passing day. And as their story unfolded, taking them through twists and turns that they never saw coming, Victor would always know that his greatest gift was to be loved and inspired by the man he equally loved and inspired.

**Author's Note:**

> A special thank you to [atelerixe](https://atelerixe.tumblr.com) who titled this fic for me and kept you all from seeing the bizarre nature of my working title. Thanks for always having my back, A! 
> 
> If you want other completed AUs, I have several:  
> [Be my chef, Yuuri](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10102205/chapters/22504352) Restaurant AU – complete  
> [Law Firm of Katsuki, Nikiforov & Chulanont](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11084109/chapters/24724854) Law Firm AU – complete  
> [Duetto](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17273291) \- High School Band vs. Chorus AU – complete  
> [Katsuki’s Pet Needs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11403003/chapters/25540758) \- Pet Store AU – complete  
> [When Bloggers Fall in Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16284383/chapters/38083160) \- Bloggers AU - complete  
> [Prize Fight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14161275/chapters/32640531) MMA AU - complete  
> [Love and Puns](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13921047) Chemistry Partner AU – complete  
> [Stick with Me series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1085361) College Jock Yuuri and Genius Victor AU - complete  
> [Crash Into Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527876/chapters/28528088) Alternate Meeting (still ice skaters) AU - complete  
> [Finding Our Way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15437370) Soulmate AU – complete  
> [Come Alive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17295020) Living Statue/Journalists AU - complete


End file.
